ROYAL (19 page)

Royal

The trim on the Challenger is gone, and I’m all masked up,
sanding the faded paint off my Challenger. Music blares from the shop speakers.
For once, I get to control the radio. That’s the beauty of having the place to
yourself on a closed Sunday morning.

Four quarts of OEM royal blue are shaken up and ready to go.
I’ll sand this thing down, apply filler as needed, prime, and paint. It’s going
to take a couple of days, but I’ll be working all day tomorrow, so it won’t
matter.

By the time this thing leaves the shop, she’ll look brand
fucking new. She’ll finally have some look-at-me shine to go with that
hear-me-roar growl she’s got under the hood.

Crouching down and checking a rusted spot behind the rear
left tire well, the music comes to a dead halt.

I yank off my mask, rise to my feet, and scan the place. The
glass windows toward the lobby shake, telling me someone’s opening doors.

I’m not alone.

I call out a couple of times. No answer.

Rod said I could have the place to myself today.

The door between the shop and the lobby swings open, and
from the dark struts Pandora Patterson. Her plump lips are twisted into a
devilish smirk, and she’s wearing a mini skirt that leaves nothing to the
imagination.

Pandora’s top hangs low, her cleavage on full display.

“Hey, Royal.” Her eyes flash, gliding to my lifted car. She
knows damn well I’m marooned here. “Daddy said you were borrowing the shop
today. Thought I’d come by and see if you needed a hand.”

Her fingers tug at her blouse, pulling the sheer fabric
aside as she leans over.

“Whatcha working on?” She snaps her gum.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Pandora pouts, her brows meeting. “That’s not a very nice
thing to say, Royal. Not when I practically own this place.”

“Rod owns it, not you.”

She bats her hand. “Same diff.”

I re-mask and crouch down, giving my undivided attention to
my more-deserving Challenger.

“Saw that rich bitch leaving your place this morning.”
Pandora’s heeled feet come into view in my periphery. “She was dressed to the
nines.”

I ignore her.

“You know, I thought she looked familiar when I saw her the
other day.” There’s a vindictive chuckle in her words. “And then I figured it
out. She’s engaged to that coma guy.”

“Not anymore.”

Pandora bends at the knees, coming down to my level. Her
hand on my shoulder makes me cringe.

“I don’t know that rich bitch that well,” she says. “But I’m
guessing she doesn’t deserve some scumbag loser like you, Royal. And I’m sure you
agree that your ugly past is going to do her no favors. No favors at all.”

My fists clench. “Leave, Pandora.”

“Her future’s going to be a whole lot brighter without
someone like you in it.” She moves toward the lobby, the toes of her Lucite
heels dragging on the concrete. “But I think you already knew that.”

Demi

My family home has a sickening silence in the air. It’s not
warm and bustling. The smell of my mother’s Sunday dinner doesn’t greet me.
There’s no garbled blare of the TV fading in and out from the family room.

But I know they’re here.

Their cars were in the garage, and Derek’s shiny loafers
were parked by the front door.

“Hello?” I call out.

The thumping of feet coming down the stairs precedes a
solemn-faced Delilah.

“Hey,” she says, unsmiling. She must know the fate I’m about
to face. “They’re in the kitchen. Waiting for you.”

“Have you told them anything?” I whisper.

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure what you were going to
tell them, so I didn’t say anything.”

“Were they freaking out?”

Delilah tromps down the rest of the stairs and slips her arm
around my shoulder before resting her chin against it.

“Yeah,” she says. “But don’t worry. I’ve got your back. We’ve
got this.”

She gives my arm a squeeze and escorts me into the kitchen,
where Mom, Dad, and Derek sit with despondent faces and folded hands. They look
like a three-person judge and jury, and this entire setup reminds me of those
ridiculous family meetings we used to have every Monday night growing up.

Great. I haven’t had a chance to plead my case, and already
they’re looking at me like I’m guilty.

“Before you say anything.” I take a seat across from Derek.
If I’m going to be staring straight ahead at anyone, I choose him. “You should
know that Brooks isn’t who you think he is.”

Dad clears his throat, adjusting his posture and narrowing
his stare.

“I just want to know what the hell is going on,” he says.

Mom clamps her hand loosely across her lips, her eyes
glassy. I know that look. She’s so choked up she can’t bring herself to utter a
single word.

“You should’ve seen Brooks this morning,” Dad says. “He lost
it. Never seen a man in worse shape than that.”

Mom clutches at her heart, eyes averted.

Brooks is a manipulator. Those were faux tears. He sucked
them all into his maelstrom with a convincing show of shallow emotions.

“He’s playing the victim,” I say. My lips part as I attempt
to elaborate, but my words are cut short by the wooden smack of my father’s
balled fist against the table.

I jump.

Delilah reaches for my hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

“Demetria, you’re a grown woman. You need to accept
responsibility for your actions. Coming in here, immediately placing all the
blame on Brooks, is grossly immature and irresponsible of you.” My father’s
face is the same color of Brooks’s Porsche. He sucks in air, holding his breath
between words. Something he only does when he’s stark raving mad. “Now tell me,
why the hell would you break up with your fiancé after he’s just been in a car
accident? Do you have any idea how that looks? How that makes us look to the
community? The entire town is going to be talking about this by Monday.”

“Dad.” I love that Delilah has the courage to interrupt one
of his rant sessions, because I sure as hell don’t. “You need to hear her out.”

Derek sits across from me, shoulders slanted, seething,
shooting silent daggers my way.

“Okay, Demi. Tell us. What’s going on? What did Brooks do to
deserve this?” Derek asks. For a second, I feel betrayed. I thought he was on
my side.

Whatever Brooks said this morning, however he acted, he’s
stolen their loyalty right out from under me. I’m quite certain he missed his
calling in life. The man should’ve been an actor, not a financial advisor.

“Brooks ended the engagement the night of the accident. He
left.” I swallow the hard ball in my throat. “He left to go be with his mistress.
And his mistress happens to be carrying his child.”

Mom rises, pushing the chair away and heading toward the
kitchen island. She rests her elbows on the marble before burying her face in
her hands.

“I don’t believe it,” Derek says. “Brooks loved you. He was
obsessed with you.”

My eyes roll. “And it was all an act. Our entire
relationship was built on a foundation of lies.”

“Now, just wait one minute.” Dad’s face pinches as he sits
up. His flattened palm lifts in the air. “How do you know this, Demetria? Where
is your proof?”

“At first, it was something I heard. Something somebody told
me,” I say. “And then I saw them together, with my own eyes, the night of the
fundraiser. I went to Brooks’s hospital room to speak with him alone about
everything, and he claimed that he didn’t remember anything. I left to go home.
There were some things I needed him to see, some things that might help him
remember, and when I got back, the other woman was in there and they were
discussing the pregnancy. She’s already fifteen weeks along.”

“Goddamn son of a bitch,” Dad says through clenched teeth.
“I don’t believe this. I don’t want to believe this.”

Mom returns to the table, dabbing bloodshot eyes with a
tissue. “We loved him like a son.”

The only other time I’d heard Mom utter those words was when
Royal left.

Dad reaches across the table, palming the top of her hand.

“Your wedding,” Mom says, looking up at me.

“I’m not worried about that,” I say. “What I am worried
about is how I’m going to pay back the hundred and seventy grand he racked up
in credit cards. In my name.”

“What?” Dad’s expression tightens.

“Going to need your help on that,” I say.

“That makes no sense.” Derek adjusts the knot of his tie.
The man can’t dress down to save his life, not since he finished law school.
“Brooks has money. He manages money. He’s always been against credit cards.
Buys everything in cash.”

I blow a tuft of hair from my face. “Yeah. Well. Just
another one of his mastermind manipulations.”

“Where was all that money going?” Mom asks.

My shoulders lift and fall. “They were all cash advances,
all taken from various ATMs in the tri-county area. We’ll never know.”

Dad’s breathing grows so loud that we all check to see if
it’s our black lab, Louie, snoring in the corner. His knotty hands knead
together as he concentrates on the floral centerpiece ahead of him.

Delilah whispers in my ear, asking if I’m okay, and I nod.
It’s not easy telling my parents what they don’t want to hear, but I’m feeling
lighter now that it’s all out.

“I wanted to wait,” I say. “I was going to wait until Brooks
was better. Recovered. I wanted to do this gracefully because I know how people
talk, and I know how this looks. Believe me. If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t
believe the timing either.”

Dad’s heavy gaze finds mine, and he exhales slowly.

“But I couldn’t stand being next to him another minute. Not
after everything he’d done.” I look to Derek, and his lips form a straight
line. I’m starting to think his body language is more about his disappointment
in Brooks than me. I square my shoulders with his. “I’m sorry, Derek.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, kid,” he says.

I wear a weary smile. He hasn’t called me kid since we were
. . . kids. As he’s just a year older than me, he always had to remind me that he
was the older one.

“Brooks is a piece of shit, as far as I’m concerned,” Derek
says. “And thank God you’ve got access to two of the fiercest prosecuting
attorneys in the state of New York.”

Mom nods, though she still looks like she’s in a daze.

“How are you doing over there, Bliss?” Dad asks. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Robert. Just disappointed. It’s Royal all over
again.” Mom’s words suck the oxygen from the room, and we all snap our gazes
toward her.

Royal’s name hasn’t been muttered in this house in seven
painstakingly long years.

“I never should’ve gotten attached,” she says. “I just can’t
help it. I treat everyone like family. I love everyone like family. You just
never expect them to let you down.”

Her words dwindle to near inaudible levels, and then she
stands, releases a sigh, and leaves the room.

Dad and Derek exchange looks, and Delilah nudges me.

“I saw Royal last week,” I blurt before I chicken out.

Derek’s neck snaps back, his hands dragging down his face.

“
What
did you
say?” My father shifts his entire body toward me.

“Actually,” I say, “I’ve been seeing a lot of him lately. He
came by last week after he heard about Brooks. He’s actually been helping me—”

Dad stands, his way of telling me the conversation is over.

“Dad, hear her out,” Delilah says.

He shakes his head, stomping toward the kitchen, where he
yanks a bottle of wine from the wine fridge and proceeds to pour himself a
generous glass.

“Royal did something very bad, Demetria,” he says after
taking a heavy sip. “He’s not the person you think he is.”

I shake my head. “Then tell me. Tell me what he did. I’m
twenty-five years old. I deserve to know. I can handle it.”

His gray eyes are hooded, and he looks exhausted, though I
suspect it’s more emotional than anything else.

“I can’t, Demi. I’ve protected you this long,” he says.
“You’re better off not knowing. Let’s put it that way. Remember the good things
about him, because this is the kind of thing you can never un-learn. This will
shadow all those good memories. All those happy times. I’ve never wanted to
take those away from you.”

“He’s innocent,” I say.

Dad scoffs. “You don’t even know what he did; how can you
say he’s innocent?”

“I . . . I just know. It’s a gut feeling. He’s a good man.
You need to meet him—the person he’s become. I want to bring him for
Thanksgiving next week.” I release my hand from Delilah’s and go to my father.
“Please. Give him a chance to redeem himself.”

He takes a swig of wine and flashes a hopeless frown. “Do
you know how many times I’ve heard criminals profess their innocence? People
like that lie all the time, about everything. They make a joke out of
God-fearing people like us.”

“People like that?” I mimic his words. “Royal is one of us.
He practically grew up under this roof. He played outside with us. He unwrapped
Christmas presents under our tree. You were more of a father to him than all of
his foster fathers combined. How can you just stand there and act like he’s
trash?”

“Demetria.” The low hum of his voice is a warning I refuse
to heed.

“You threw him away. He needed you, and you threw him away.”
I shake my head, hands seconds from fishing my keys from my pockets. I have to
leave. Now. “I thought you were better than that.”

“He’s not the kind of man I want associating with my
daughter.” He huffs, his shoulders puffing as he lifts his wine goblet to his
lips. “Anyone who would do something so vile, so disgusting, doesn’t deserve a
seat at my table. Royal’s not welcome here, and I made that very clear to him
seven years ago.”

The room spins around me, everything a blur.

Next thing I know, I’m seated in the front seat of my car,
pounding the steering wheel with my fist and biting my lip to keep from falling
apart. My foot presses against the brake pedal until it hits the floor, and I
slam the shifter into reverse.

Salty tears fog my gaze, but I see the outline of a man
approaching my car. I blink them away and see Derek.

Rolling down my window, I snap at him. “What do you want?”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his navy slacks and
bends at the waist.

“Just checking on you,” he says. “I know it was intense in
there, but you have to know that Dad just wants to protect you.”

“From what?” I spit my words, slapping my visor up against
the roof and sinking back into my seat.

Derek licks his lips, lifts his brows, and stares through my
car, out my passenger window.

“You know,” I say. “You know what happened. Oh my God.
Derek. Tell me.”

His lips form a circle, and he releases a loaded breath. “I
looked it up once in law school. We had access to closed case files—you
know, the kind where the victims are young and their identities need to be
protected.”

My heart races faster than it’s ever raced before. A million
times I’d tried some haphazard internet research, hoping for some kind of
article or docket summary. I’d always come up empty-handed, and it makes sense
now.

“It’s bad, Demi.” His works sink me. “It’s so bad, I don’t
even want to believe it’s true.”

“Do you?” I ask. “Do you believe it’s true?”

His sweatered shoulders lift to his ears. “There was
evidence. And he pled guilty. So . . .”

“He had to take a plea deal. He told me that.”

“No one has to take a plea deal, Demi.”